


Curiosity

by orphan_account



Series: you're a pain in the neck (literally) [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bisexual Male Character, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dreams and Nightmares, Gay John Laurens, Gay Male Character, Gen, Half-Vampires, Insomnia, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Minor Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Monsters, Nausea, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Philip Hamilton Lives, Transformation, Vampire Bites, Vampire Headcanons, Vampires, bisexual Philip hamilton, fight me, i love philip and laurens, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15402717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Some say that once a vampire targets you, they’ll never leave you alone until they have you.Philip knows this to be absolute bullshit. The vampire isn’t the one that spends countless hours, days, weeks, months—sometimes longer—looking for its victim, consumed by the very thought of them until it captures them and keeps them as a plaything.No, unfortunately, it’s the victim that does the chasing—and damn if he isn’t a fool for searching.





	Curiosity

“It’s okay, Philip. You’re going to be fine. Focus on my voice, okay?”

Philip opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked gurgling sound.

He doesn’t know where he is. He thinks he’s in an alleyway—isn’t that where he was a few moments ago? Why is he here? What was he doing?—gravel and stone digging into his cheek and moonlight illuminating the outline of his body. He lies on his stomach, strength completely zapped from his muscles, a headache throbbing against his skull and his vision flickering in and out, in and out. His neck burns.

Someone rolls him onto his back, pulls him into their lap, presses something—he thinks it’s a jacket, maybe a shirt—against his throat. Whatever it is, it doesn’t take long for the foreign object to become soaked.

“You’re going to be fine,” the person repeats, and he looks up at them, mouth moving but words failing to come to light. He recognizes his father’s messy length of hair and round glasses, but his features remain obscured, lost in a haze.

Philip realizes why he can’t see when tears slip down his face, falling onto the pavement below.

_You’re going to be fine._

God, his neck hurts.

_It’s going to be okay._

It hurts so _bad_.

_Focus on my voice._

He’s going to die. He can feel it—coursing through his veins.

What happened? Is he poisoned—is this what it’s _like_ to be poisoned? It’s not like he has any personal experience with such a thing. Has he been shot? Stabbed?

Why does his body feel like it’s been doused in gasoline and set aflame?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember—mind buzzing with the need to sleep, the need to disappear.

His eyes slip closed, the arm around him tightening around his chest, the shirt pressed against his neck pushed closer to his bloodied skin. He hears his father call out for his mother, catching only a couple of words before the cloud consuming his brain pulls him into nothingness.

The word “vampire” follows him into darkness.

***

It wasn’t until recent history that humans became aware of vampires.

Well, perhaps that isn’t entirely true—vampires have existed in human works for centuries, stretching for generations, being portrayed in different lights but always recognized as what they are due to their fangs and likeness to human blood. Humans have always feared the unknown, the abnormal, and vampires qualify as both—or they _did_ until a couple decades ago, when the human population was introduced to their existence through a string of murders across the globe.

Mass panic had spurred a need for a quick solution, which spurred the government to provide a quick remedy, which spurred an onslaught of accusations and lies. When police reported the killings as being “otherworldly” and scientists confirmed a “new” kind of human species, people almost rioted.

Almost.

Authorities, trying to avoid mass hysteria, set up a peace between the two species, and for the most part, humans and vampires have learned how to go about their lives alongside each other. The murders stopped, at least, and people calmed down, albeit still suspicious. Still paranoid.

Information on vampires has come out over the years on vampires, but only in bursts, and always worded in such a way that it did little to calm people’s worries.

Philip’s read some over the years, but never in great detail. The most he knows is the basics—the rules humans tell themselves in hopes they’ll be safer.

Like as if that ever works, though—after all, look where his “rules” got him.

***

_He’s out in the city with his family. Blurred faces pass by them as they move as a unit down the street, goofing off and passing jokes to kill time. Glowing lampposts light the sidewalk, marking a path for the family to follow, stretching on for as far as the eye can see. The moon hovers in the sky, glaring down at them as they walk, forever present._

_It’s quiet. Not the kind of quiet where you can hear crickets chirping or distant sounds of car horns and people shouting—as is normal in the city—or even just the ringing in your ears that comes with a lack of all other noise. No, Philip notices that there is no sound_ at all _—not from the people they pass, the cars that peel past them. Even the words his family say are mute; their mouths moving but no sound coming out._

_And, just as he makes this realization, everything around him stops._

_His blood runs cold._

_Philip comes to a halt, studying the frozen scene in front of him. Everything is such a blur, a mix of muted color and fleeting vibrations, of lost souls and melting buildings. The air grows thick around him, the young man pursing his lips and wrapping his arms around his middle, running his hands down his arms to keep warm. His breath hangs in the air in front of him._

_His neck pulses._

_A blur of movement in the corner of his eyes draws his attention away from his surroundings. A shadow of sorts, shaped like a man, darts into an alleyway, so fast that Philip doesn’t get so much as a glimpse of the other person’s face. The darkness of the passageway swallows the figure up, shielding them from his gaze._

_Philip, frustration itching deep within his chest, stalks forward, ready to give the person a piece of his mind, ready to give them hell and grill them good over whatever the hell is happening, unaware of the whispers in his ear urging him to come closer, to follow close behind, that’s it, just a little further—_

_Before he knows it, he’s lying on the ground, blood leaking down his throat and body so weak he can’t move. He finds himself in his father’s arms again, the man murmuring reassurances to him, hoping to reach his son._

_Philip tries to listen; he really does. But instead, he’s drawn to a figure standing just behind his father, someone with a freckled face, bloodstained lips and a head full of dark, thick curls. Something about them is familiar, but he can’t put his finger on what._

_The stranger smiles, whispering something he can’t hear, and the pain in his neck spreads, fire burning just beneath his skin, growing unbearable by the minute and God if he doesn’t drop dead here and now—_

Philip jolts upright in his bed, his hands flying up to his throat as a scream tears its way out of his lungs, pain he didn’t think was possible until now pulsing throughout his thin frame. His mother, propped up in a chair and sleeping soundly, snaps awake at the sound of her son screaming and jumps into action; coming closer and pulling him into a hug.

“Shh, shh,” she quiets him, running a hand through his hair as Philip buries his face into her shoulder, whimpering under his breath. “You’re okay. It was just a dream—it’s okay, I’m here, see? Nothing to worry about—”

Eliza continues to whisper to him as he weeps, chin resting on his shoulder and words mumbled into his ear, the woman speaking between yawns.

And Philip, tired and weak and wounded in ways even he doesn’t fully understand, can barely hear a word—too focused on the image of a stranger with curly hair and a freckled face in his mind to hear her.

***

The more Philip thinks about “the vampire rules,” the more ridiculous they sound.

**Rule one—Don’t go out alone, especially at night.**

Sounds reasonable enough. The night’s easy pickings for any beast, and if vampires exist, others might show themselves with time. Why make yourself an easy target?

Of course, Philip _did_ go out at night, but not alone. Though even with being surrounded by family, the vampire still managed to lead him away. Perhaps they should change the rule to “don’t wander off like a dumbass when you’re in a group” or something?

Would it have _mattered_? A vampire could’ve just stormed through his family and taken him anyway. They’re known for their inhumane strength and stubbornness, after all—it makes him wonder why the vampire that bit him even bothered leading him into an alleyway in the first place. What was there for the beast to be afraid of?

**Rule two—If a vampire approaches you, don’t look them in the eye.**

Philip still isn’t totally sure why this is a rule, if he’s being honest. What good would it be to avoid looking at a vampire? It’s not like just _looking_ at them is the problem—it’s the fact that they can _bite you and drain you of your blood_. Closing your eyes and pretending they’re not there doesn’t stop them from taking your blood.

Unless they can mind control people, or something.

… _Is_ that something vampires can do?

He wonders if he tried that back in the alley. He wishes he can remember, but all that comes to him is hazy images of his family surrounding him and a dull ache pulsing in his neck.

Philip groans, running a hand down his face as the other twists in the bed sheets lying underneath him.

Do vampire bites wipe your memory clean, or is he just special?

**Rule three—If a vampire tries to grab you, run.**

Right, because _that_ would work. Where are you going to run? Where could _he_ have run? Back to his family? At that point in time, would it have really done any of them any good if he led a vampire right to his parents and siblings and made _them_ targets, too? Again, it’d probably have hurt them, too.

Going anywhere with people wouldn’t help, either—people are blinder than bats nowadays, minding their own business and pretending that any interruptions are just part of some holy, unnatural plan. Trying to slip into a crowd would’ve just led the vampire into more unsuspecting people—something he doubts would’ve ended well.

And if he tried going somewhere secluded, the monster would have just trapped him.

Philip’s stomach turns just thinking about it.

**Rule four—If it tries to attack you, fight back.**

With what? _Fists_? Everyone learned a while back that garlic and wooden stakes didn’t do any good—and as for silver, it’s not like anyone’s tried to get into a knife fight or anything with a vampire to test it out. Those are just old myths told by people who’ve been dead and gone long before vampires made themselves known.

And really, it’s not like anyone’s presented any alternatives.

And sure, throwing a few punches is better than just _letting_ a vampire take advantage of you, but with how strong they are, he doubts fighting would do anyone any good.

No, Philip knows fighting it would’ve just pissed it off. Maybe even enough that if he would have tried to defend himself, he would’ve gotten himself killed.

**Rule five—If someone you know is bitten and survives, keep them away from the vampire that bit them.**

Philip scoffs. As if that’s easy to do; he has no doubt that a vampire can track someone anywhere they go once its bitten them. He’s heard stories of people going missing months after a bite, turning up dead in some undisclosed town or whatever. Sometimes they’re never seen or heard from again.

And for the lucky few that aren’t hunted down…they’re damaged beyond repair.

Philip presses the back of his head to his pillow, face hidden in his hands.

He’s _doomed_.

“Philip,” his mother calls for him from downstairs, Philip sitting up at the sound, “the doctor’s here.”

“Coming,” he answers, clearing his throat when it comes out hoarse. “I’m—I’m coming, just give me a second.”

“Alright.”

Sighing, giving a half-hearted glance around his room, Philip climbs onto his feet, walking out the door and down the stairs. He does his best to ignore the incessant throb that pulses just below his bite, thoughts spinning with the need to find a solution the mess he’s found himself in.

If humans really have no defenses against vampires—if he really _is_ left with nothing to defend himself with save for his brain and his fists—then what kind of fate awaits him?

***

He learns he’s been out of it for three days. The doctor says that’s a good thing, though—apparently most people are under a vampire’s spell for much longer, especially if it’s their first run-in with one (the fact that most people in his situation have more than one experience with vampires makes his skin crawl). The man even compliments Philip’s strength, a comment that Philip has to ignore lest he break into laughter. With the way he feels, he’s anything but strong—but he won’t admit that, not out loud.

“Your fever seems to have broken,” the doctor hums, looking up from the thermometer to meet his parents’ eyes. They’re in the living room; Philip sitting on the couch and siblings spread throughout, looking at him with a mix of worry and fear. Why they’re afraid, he doesn’t know, unless they think whatever he has is infectious—which, according to the doctor, it isn’t. “I’d say he’ll make a full recovery. You folks got lucky; most cases I’ve seen have ended with the patient either dying or being admitted into a mental hospital.”

His face pales. How promising.

Still, Philip watches the identical looks of relief on his parents’ faces, his mother more than his father. Judging by the twinkle in his eyes, Alexander has more questions than anyone else in the room combined.

“Is there anything we can do now?” he asks. “Like—I mean—is there protocols for this type of thing? Treatments? What are we supposed to do until he is recovered? What counts as ‘recovered—’”

“Your husband asks a lot of questions,” the doctor notes to Eliza, interrupting him.

Eliza smiles. Philip notices the shadows hanging underneath her eyes, lack of sleep rearing its ugly head through her mask of calm. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest but doesn’t say anything, swallowing thickly as he watches her nod, “That he does.”

“Hey! _One_ of us has to ask the questions!” his father says, though there’s a playful note to his voice amidst the exhaustion and shock.

The doctor laughs, holding up a hand to silence them all. He gestures to Philip with a shake of his head, explaining, “The bite’s scabbed over, but I’d suggest looking out for an infection just in case. He might be weak for some time still, and I expect that he’ll be…spotty, for lack of better words, but besides that, you should just do what you usually do—go about your daily routines and all. You might need to keep an extra eye on him for a month or so, remind him to take his medicine and the like—but with the way he’s going, I don’t think he’ll need the high-maintenance other bite victims need.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Philip huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Another laugh, though this one is hollow, lacking its previous luster. “Yes, you are,” he says. “Let’s hope things stay that way.”

Alexander and Eliza lead the doctor to the exit a few hours later, saying goodbye and talking about this and that, but Philip doesn’t pay much attention. He takes one look at his parents, at the doctor, at his siblings—and then he locks himself in his room, grumbling under his breath.

He has some reading to do.

***

Philip learns a lot about vampire victims after being bitten.

For instance, he learns that their bite marks never go away. After weeks of healing, his still shows clear as day on his skin, reminding him of that night in the alley. Sure, it’s scabbed over—or it did, at first. The scab fell off a few days after the doctor’s visit, leaving behind two punctures in his neck, visible whenever he wears anything that doesn’t have collar to it.

It hurts like a bitch, too; pulsing with this weird ache, as if it’s a kind of signal, directing him—or something else—somewhere else. Sometimes he feels like it is, whether it be for the vampire or himself, considering anymore he feels drawn to something he can’t see, always pointing in some direction or another.

Not that he’ll ever follow that inner call, of course. That’s just silly thinking.

Despite his parents best efforts, though, he rips off any bandage they try to put on it, and whenever someone goes to touch it he flinches hard enough he visibly jumps.

He also knows, now, that a vampire’s bite changes someone’s inner clock. His sleeping schedule has fallen into shreds, worse than his father’s, and it’s not from a lack of trying. Sometimes he sleeps throughout the whole night; sometimes only for a couple hours; sometimes he sleeps through half the day. There’ve been a few days where he’s slept an entire day and been alert throughout the night, to the annoyance of his family.

And when it comes to food, he’s noticed a loss of appetite as time goes on. He can’t force himself to eat more than a few bites before his stomach threatens to shrink in on itself and die.

The doctor had warned he and his family about him being “spotty,” but when Philip finds himself standing on the other side of his balcony one day, snapped out of whatever trance he’s in by his parents shouting his name and pulling him back to safety, he realizes that the man hadn’t been overly specific in that regard. The young adult keeps the doors to his balcony locked, now, just in case—but he still ends up in odd places, whether it be down on the streets sitting on the steps to his apartment complex or in some convenience store he doesn’t remember walking into.

And then there’s the nightmares.

It’s odd. Usually he has the one about the alleyway—with the static figures and whispering voices. But recently, it’s shifted into other dreams, dreams where his body turns to ice and falls apart, where he’s locked in a vacuum and left screaming into the darkness, where that same figure follows him everywhere he goes, stealing the faces and voices of those he knows, always given away but its fangs.

It’s gotten to a point where the whispering and that ever-present cold have followed him into the waking world, Philip unable to speak to anyone until he’s certain they’re not that thing hiding behind his loved ones’ faces.

 _Ugh_ , no wonder people think survivors like him are bat-shit crazy. If he’s not careful, he’ll wind up in a hospital—and hell, maybe that’s what the vampires want. It’s easier to get to your prey if they’re stuck in one place, after all.

***

After a few months of scouring the internet and every book he can find, his research doesn’t lead him anywhere.

With vampires being so new, at least to the modern age, Philip can’t gleam much information out of the books and websites he reads, even at their most detailed and accurate. There’s just not much that people know about them, besides the fact they’ve existed perhaps as long as humans, have some questionable dietary choices and have some less-than-comforting abilities.

Growling under his breath, face illuminated by his computer screen, Philip rubs at his eyes, scrubbing and scrubbing until they’re ringed red.

He can’t remember the last time he slept. The last time he ate. It’s been a few days at the least, maybe more, judging by the piles of books on his desk and the scribbled notes in front of him.

He really is his father all over again.

“Pip?” he hears a voice call from his bedroom door, soft and concerned. He turns to find his sister standing there, her hand holding the door open as she looks him up and down. “What’re you doing up? It’s, like, three in the morning.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he jokes, a thin smile stretching across his face. It feels fake, and he doesn’t doubt it looks as such. “I’m just doing some reading. Don’t worry, I was just about to stop—what’d you want?”

“I can’t sleep. Thought you could use some company.” Angelica frowns, her eyebrows knitting together in thought. His sister steps into his room and closes the door, walking over to him in just a few strides and plopping down on his desk. Blue light shines on her gown, the young woman giving him a look that’s almost identical to their mother’s “ _you-know-you’re-fucking-up-your-own-life-so-just-stop-what-you’re-doing-now_ ” look. “Besides, it’s not a crime to want to hang out with my brother—unless you’re undead now, or something. Pretty sure there’s some law that says you can’t hang out with corpses.”

“Probably. And, uh, zombies don’t exist yet, Angie,” he tells her, swallowing passed a lump in his throat. He hopes that those stay in fiction with all the other monsters that have yet to be discovered. The last thing humanity needs is an undead apocalypse. “…but, uh, I hate to disappoint you, but we can’t really do much. Everyone else’s asleep.”

“I know,” his sister sighs. She gestures with her hands, spinning them in circles as she talks, her thoughts coming out in a mumbled blur, “I just…everything’s been weird, and with how Mom and Dad have been acting you haven’t had much time to yourself, and—”

“You’re right,” Philip interrupts, chuckling, “I _haven’t_ gotten much time to myself. Wanna tell me why you’re intruding on my free time now?”

Angelica makes a sound in the back of her throat, closing her eyes and forcing a breath through her nose, “If you let me finish, I will.”

“Fair point.”

His sister pauses. “I know everyone’s been treating you like you’re, uh—what’s the word—”

“Dangerous?” Philip quips.

She nods. “Yeah, that. And I just wanted to, um, well—I want you to know that you’re not? And that I don’t think you’re bad or anything. And that I know everything’s kinda rough right now—”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“—but it scares me that you’re acting like Dad when he gets into his moods, and whereas it’s normal for _him_ to be acting like the world is gonna end any second, it’s not normal for my _big brother_ to be acting like that.” She looks him in the eye, gaze hardening. “I just want to know if you’re okay, Pip. It’s okay if you’re not, but…you don’t have to go through this alone, even if I don’t know what’s going on. I’d hate to lose you over some stupid bloodsucker.”

Philip’s at a lost. He meets his sister’s gaze cautiously, caught off guard by this conversation she decided to have so early in the morning, though he can’t say he’s too bothered by it. He does his best to smile, more genuine this time, saying, “Angie, I’m fine. I know you guys are just worried about me and doing your best. Hell, I’d be worried if you all _weren’t_ cranked up to an eleven—it’d be so unlike this family, I swear—but I mean, it’s not all _that_ bad. It’s nice knowing I’m not stuck with all this shit on my own, y’know?” Even if it _does_ get on his nerves. He keeps that thought to himself, though.

Angelica returns his smile and nods. “That’s good to hear,” she says. She pauses, glancing at his computer, “So, what’re you reading?”

“Vampire stuff,” he shrugs, clicking out of it. “Nothing helpful, though.”

Angelica’s eyebrows shoot up, an unspoken question written in her gaze: _What kind of ‘vampire stuff’ counts as helpful?_

Philip hesitates, looking between her and the screen. “…It’s just facts on them,” he says, not meeting her in the eye. “You know, basic information and how we think they work—junk like that. Considering there’s not enough willing vampires for scientists to gain the data they need, though, it’s mostly just what’s been observed, which, uh, isn’t…a lot…”

He trails off at Angelica’s glare, the young woman crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with red, tired eyes. He can already see her working out some kind of explanation, a reason behind why he’s researching vampires, and none of the conclusions she seems to be making are any good.

“… _Why_?” she asks at last. Her voice leaves no room for protesting; it’s either answer or perish.

Philip hesitates again, looking more panicked by the second. He doesn’t even know why he’s researching vampires, if he’s being honest; he just feels like he has to. That inner pulse that’s resided inside him for the past few months has been insistent on him learning more, considering he won’t follow it out the front door, prompting him to do whatever he can to understand what’s happened to him. To understand the thing that did this to him.

…Yeah, no, he can’t tell her that.

Pushing his chair out and standing, Philip stretches, faking a yawn, “You know what? I’ve been up too long. G’night, Angie.”

“But—”

“Good _night_.” Philip climbs into his bed, back facing his sister, pulling the covers over his head. He refuses to look at her, though he can feel her glare pierce his back, sharp and analytical.

It feels like hours before he hears his bedroom door close, Philip throwing his sheets off him and sitting up with a small groan. That throbbing in his neck is back, worse than before, the whispering picking up in his sister’s absence.

 _What’re you looking for?_ They ask him. _Don’t you want answers? Don’t you want to be free?_

_If you just listened, it’d be easier._

_If you just listened, you’d be happier._

Philip rubs at his neck, scratching at the bite. Resignation crosses his features, but only briefly, the man throwing his legs over the bed’s side and pushing himself onto his feet.

There’s only one way to get his answers—and all he has to do is follow the pulling in his chest.

***

Some say that once a vampire targets you, they’ll never leave you alone until they have you.

Philip knows this to be absolute bullshit. The vampire isn’t the one that spends countless hours, days, weeks, months—sometimes longer—looking for its victim, consumed by the very thought of them until it captures them and keeps them as a plaything.

No, unfortunately, it’s the victim that does the chasing—and damn if he isn’t a fool for searching.

***

He pushes the door of the bar open with his shoulder, wrapped up in a coat despite it being so close to summer. The sensations that hit him are overwhelming; sounds and smells blending together and making him dizzy the moment the door closes behind him. The place is busier than he thought it would be, given how the sun’s about to rise soon and most people leave bars at least a few hours before now, but Philip doesn’t question it. He’s dealt with weirder before.

Wrapping his coat around himself tighter, he looks around at the sea of faces, squinting due to the lighting. God, he needs to sleep after this— _if_ he doesn’t die tonight. Or this morning? What time is it again? Hell if he knows.

He doesn’t recognize anyone inside. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone in here before, a realization that makes him pause. All of their faces are too sharp, their bodies held in odd angles, their voices too warped or too soft or too clear. Everyone in the bar has this odd aura around them, this odd mixture of being attractive and dangerous, of feeling so out of place yet belonging all the same.

Philip watches as one of the strangers—a woman with a bruised face, one that makes the man wince—breaks into a fit of laughter, sharp teeth visible behind her lips.

He pales.

No wonder he doesn’t recognize anyone—this bar is for fucking _monsters_.

And, judging by the looks he’s getting, some of them are noticing a human trespassing in their territory.

Fuck.

Swallowing, Philip ducks his head, focusing instead on the insistent tugging at his neck and heart. Summoning an image of his vampire in his mind. Curly hair, freckles—sharp smile, though judging by the room everyone in here has one of those.

He sighs.

He came here for a reason—no point in getting distracted now.

He makes his way through the packed room, avoiding the many looks he gets from the room’s inhabitants, the pull growing stronger with each step. He hears murmuring—this time for real, not just in his head—what little he hears stealing any heat he might still have.

“Is that a human?”

“What’s it doing in here?”

“Is it lost?”

“Maybe we should do something about it…”

Curly hair. Freckles. Focus on what he came here for—nothing else matters.

God, he’s going to die in here, he knows it.

He notices someone sitting on a stool at the bar, vampires seated on either side of them, head thrown back as the person takes a shot. He watches as the person slams the glass down and throws his arms up into the air, letting out a loud “whoop” as his friends cheer him, one of them leaning forward to make what Philip thinks is a joke.

His heart skips a beat. Maybe it’s just the desperation pumping through his body, but he can clearly see the freckles that crawl up the man’s arm, the dark curls pulled into a tight ponytail. He watches as the other man says something to his friend, too quiet for Philip to pick up.

Relief washes over him, the human’s shoulders slumping.

Found him.

He goes to approach the stranger, but someone steps in his way, snickering. The smell of booze and cologne hits him, and Philip coughs, hand shooting up to cover his mouth and nose as he looks up at the person in front of him.

The vampire towers over him—way taller than anyone he knows. He’s dressed in this tacky, purple suit, leaning a bit too heavily on a cane as he stares down at Philip, smile stretched wide and thick, wild hair framing his features.

“Hey, there, pretty boy,” the man muses, words laced with a southern drawl. “What’s someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Philip wonders if now’s a good time to puke. Stomach doing flips, color draining from his face, all he can muster is a feeble shake of his head, taking a step back.

Everyone in the bar looks their way, falling silent. If any of them had been oblivious to his presence before, they’re sure as hell aware of him now.

“Speechless?” the vampire laughs, an infectious sound that spreads throughout the bar, save for a few blank faces that stare on with boredom. “I guess that’s to be expected—most humans are when I meet them.”

Is that normal? Maybe that tip about avoiding a vampire’s gaze has more merit than he thought; though, as he meets the taller man’s eyes, he realizes that no, that’s not the case, at least not for him. He finds himself unaffected by the other man’s gaze, even as he stares at him like he’s nothing more than a snack.

“…Um,” is all Philip says, eyes darting around, trying to find an escape route. He shouldn’t have come here—he should have fought harder, should have just sat in his room and talked to Angelica. Why he snuck out in the middle of the night to find a vampire that could have killed him is a mystery even to himself.

“How’d you find this place, anyways?” the vampire continues. He reaches down and brushes at Philip’s hair, and the younger man’s chest burns, anger and disgust and horror colliding into a jumbled mess of emotion. “It’s not often people like you show up here. You lookin’ for a good time?”

God, kill him. Kill him _now_.

“I-I—”

“Lay off, Jefferson,” another voice—also one with a southern drawl, though not as prominent as Jefferson’s—interrupts, someone storming up behind the tall vampire. Philip’s eyes widen when he sees _him_ , face twisted into annoyance and vague worry, the smaller vampire standing between Jefferson and the human. “This one’s mine.”

At that, the entire room bursts into laughter. Philip fights the urge to curl in on himself at the sound, reminded of a sound akin to glass scraping against glass. He swallows back vomit as he stares at the back of the smaller vampire’s head, absently reaching for his shirt, clinging to it like a small child would with their mother.

He has never felt so ashamed in his entire life.

Still, the smaller vampire doesn’t back down. With a strange sense of calm, he steps to the side, pulling himself from Philip’s grip. He takes the man’s sleeve and pulls him into full view of the other vampire, pulling his hair back.

The laughter dies at once as everyone sees the bite mark on Philip’s neck.

“He’s _mine_ ,” the vampire repeats, Philip catching a glimpse of fire in his gaze. He’d hate to be on this vampire’s shitlist, that’s for sure. “He’s off-limits, you hear me? Leave him alone.”

Jefferson pauses. He’s not sure what it is—his vampire’s tone, the eyes of everyone else in the bar on them, the bite mark—but the taller vampire gives them both a cold smile, holding his hands up. “Alright,” he slurs, stepping back, “alright. My apologies—though next time, teach your pet some manners. Or how to talk—one or the other, whichever works for you.”

Philip glances over to his vampire, mouth clamped shut. Questions run circles in his mind, repeating over and over, but there’s too many, flowing too fast for him to voice any.

The other vampire merely nods, pulling Philip closer, “Noted.”

And then, Jefferson sits down, and Philip finds himself being dragged towards the exit, arm held in a hold hard enough to bruise.

He makes a whine of protest, stumbling after the vampire and mumbling about the pain, but the other doesn’t stop until they’re outside. The moment the bar’s door closes, he lets him go, standing in front of him with those fiery eyes, expression a mix between annoyed and exhausted.

“You,” he starts, words hissed through his fangs, “are a reckless _dumbass_.” and then, in the same breath, he goes, “though I’m not surprised, with you being a Hamilton.”

Philip blinks.

Looks like they have a lot to discuss.

***

His name is John Laurens. _The_ John Laurens, Philip learns—the same his parents mention on the rare occasion his father isn’t pretending the dead never existed. John tells him how he and Alexander met in college, had been friends (and eventually more than that, according to John—news to him, considering he doesn’t know anything about his father’s relationships before his mother) up until Laurens got shot in an altercation with another student on campus, someone named Charles Lee.

“Turns out, vampires can be nice to humans when it benefits them,” John tells him, taking a drag of his cigarette. A vampire that smokes—Philip figures there’s a first for everything. “One found me dying in the grass while Alexander was looking for help and offered me a deal. He saved my life, and now I owe him eternal servitude, or something like that.”

“Like slavery?” Philip wrinkles his nose.

Laurens hums. “Nah, not like that. More of a partnership. Trust me, if it _was_ slavery, I’d be dead right now—woulda thrown myself into daylight years ago.”

It doesn’t sound like that, but Philip doesn’t push it. He leans back, thoughts dragging in his head, glancing at the glowing sign situated just in front of the bar. If it isn’t for the fact he’s been awake for days, he might’ve been able to read it, but it just looks like gibberish to him now. “…So, is there a reason why you bit me,” he starts, his words coming out slow, calculated, “or do I happen to be lucky?”

John chokes. A fit of coughs overtakes him, the vampire struggling to get his breathing back. Another thing Philip notices—vampires _breathe_. Weird.

“Uh,” John avoids his gaze, head turned away from him as he flicks ash from his cigarette, “yeah, about that. Sorry. Usually I’ve got a good supply going so I’m not so out of it, but, uh…you happened to be on the street when I’d been dry for, what, almost a month? I was pretty much dying.”

“So you bit me.” Philip frowns. He has to admit, he feels bad for the guy. He can’t imagine stumbling around the city, half-dead and half out of his mind, looking for anything to remedy him. Though he’s not sure if he’d resort to drinking someone else’s blood, he assumes vampires don’t have a choice in that matter.

John rubs the back of his neck. He’s facing Philip now, moonlight shining through the vampire’s hair, and Philip thinks he understands now why humans fall for a vampire’s charm—and by that, he realizes that in the dark, you can’t see how fucking _weird_ they look.

“Well,” Laurens says, “I wasn’t about to drink outta my old boyfriend or his wife. Seemed to be a safer bet.”

Philip snorts, “Don’t ever say that in front of Pops. He’ll kill you.”

“I think he’d kill me just for being a vampire, honestly.” John pauses. He sticks his cigarette in his mouth, eyeing the human from the corner of his eye.

Philip can’t read his expression, though he can tell the other’s jaw is set, hands shaking slightly in his lap. Do vampires get the shakes? Might be the alcohol—wait, _would_ vampires be affected by alcohol the same way humans are?

So many questions. Head hurts.

“…Yes…?” he says, raising his eyebrows.

John shrugs, still staring at him. “Nothing. Just wondering why you went to the trouble of tracking me down.”

Philip’s the one to look away now, rubbing at his arms and closing his eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s here, either; he hasn’t known what he’s been doing for the past few months, let alone in that moment. All his life has been since that night is a series of questions, of pain and insomnia and frustration. Of looking for answers nobody except for the man next to him—and maybe everyone else in the bar—has.

He’s wasted so much time trying to figure out what he is and what he wants instead of sitting down and just letting his body recover, only to realize that knowing what’s happening won’t fix him. Just knowing doesn’t reverse what’s been taken from him.

Why _did_ he track the vampire down? What _is_ he even looking for?

Finally, his eyes glazed over and hands clinging to his sleeves, he settles on an answer. His voice hoarse, he whispers, “It _hurts_.”

And that’s all John needs to hear.

The cigarette in his mouth falls to the ground, eyes widening a little in realization. “…Oh. Oh, _fuck_.”

He feels the vampire’s gaze glued to the side of his face, searching, reading him, just as his sister had a few hours ago—but then he feels a hand on his arm and he flinches, pulling away and giving him a panicked look.

John stops, hand still hovering in the air. He meets Philip’s gaze, and again, the younger man tenses up—expecting to be under the vampire’s supernatural control. Instead, he just sees how tired the other is, the amount of worry written into John’s permanently-young features, the way he presses his lips together into a thin line.

He watches as the vampire lowers his arm, letting it hang at his side. “Well,” he mutters, “this is bad. Didn’t think I’d be dealing with this yet, but…well. That’s what I get for not calling in my supply right away.”

Philip wonders if he’s supposed understand that. “…Okay?”

“Look,” John shakes his head to clear it, fixing Philip with such an intense stare that it causes him to freeze, “I’m real sorry for getting you into this situation. I mean, I guess it’d be different if you weren’t related to someone I knew—actually, scratch that, things would be _completely_ different and I doubt I’d be having this talk right now, but, uh—oh, jeez, what do you even _say_ in this situation?” he pauses, thinking it over. “…Alright, alright—I can’t really explain everything now, mostly ’cause your brain would explode if I tried, but—”

“I’m not dying, am I?” Philip croaks out, shivering. He pales at the thought, his mouth growing dry, arms wrapping tighter around himself. He wants to curl up and hide, maybe run, maybe _both_ , wanting more than anything to escape the conversation and forget it ever happened. God, he really _is_ a fool.

John deadpans. “What? No! No, _God_ , no—did you really think you were _dying_?”

Philip doesn’t respond to that.

“Holy shit. It really _is_ that bad.” John slaps a hand to his forehead. Philip hears him mumble something, but he doesn’t catch what the vampire says, the other standing and walking out into the street. The vampire gestures to him, saying, “Come on. We’re going on a walk.”

“A walk?” Philip echoes. He narrows his eyes. “Is this a trick?”

“No offense, buddy, but if I wanted to drain you I would’ve done so by now. Better yet, if I didn’t care at all, I would’ve let Jefferson and his goons drain you back in there.” John points to the bar dismissively, waving a hand in the air, more urgently than before. “Besides, I can’t drink from you now. Vampires can’t drink from dhampirs.”

***

John talks enough for the both of them as they walk, Philip listening as the vampire explains the ins and outs of drinking from mortals and what it entails. It turns out, biting someone isn’t enough to turn them—he knew this, has known this, though it’s a relief to be reminded every once in a while—and there’s a whole procedure that comes with turning someone into a vampire. John doesn’t explain much except for it “hurts like hell” and Philip doesn’t ask, wanting nothing to do with the information.

But, just like there’s procedures for turning someone, there’s also procedures for feeding from them. John mentions something about consent and using some kind of vampire medicine (vampires have their own medicine? Philip stores that information in his brain for later), but besides that, he skips over that, too, claiming that all he needs to know is that drinking from mortals isn’t has easy as fiction makes it out to be.

And lo and behold, John and his starved brain had forgotten about the basics and had just gone for blood the moment it was presented to him.

Which, in some cases, is okay, considering some people just recover from the assault and move on with their lives.

But, in cases like Philip, things don’t turn out as neat and tidy as everyone would like.

“…So what you’re saying is you fucked me up and turned me into some kind of weird half-human, half-monster,” Philip says. He scratches at the back of his neck, attempting to curb his need to scratch at his bite. “I guess that makes sense—to some extent, anyway. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that almost throwing yourself off your balcony isn’t normal, after all.”

John stops. “You did _what_?”

“Nothing. So, what do you do when a feeding goes wrong? What happens when that person doesn’t, how’d you put it—‘stay mortal’?”

John stares at him in horror. He blinks, directing his gaze elsewhere. Man, you’d think a vampire would be better at eye contact. “…What I’m saying is, not all people we feed from go full-on insane or lead a life of sunshine and rainbows,” he explains. His hands move as he speaks, fumbling the faster he talks, “When vampires—namely dumbasses like me—forget to go through all the protocol for a feeding, some of the venom in our fangs remains in the human’s blood system. _Permanently_. It’s why you feel like you’re on fire right now.”

Ah, so _that’s_ what that was. “But I’m still human, right?” Philip asks. His voice shakes slightly as he says it. “Being a dha-whatever-the-fuck’s not gonna make it so I have to drink blood or anything, right?”

John hesitates. “Not exactly…I mean, obviously there’s a difference between being a human and being a dhampir, but you’re still not a vampire. It’s more like you get half the deal and skip out on the more serious terms.” He makes a face. “Does that make sense?”

Philip shrugs. “I think so?”

“Good enough for me, bud—”

“Philip.”

John blinks. “Excuse me?”

“My name. It’s Philip.” His face burns. He wonders if that has anything to do with the venom John mentioned. He hopes it is.

John doesn’t seem to notice his blush, nodding absently at the new information, “Right. Anyway, you should be fine as far as your, uh, diet goes. If anything, you might get nauseous or whatever—ugh, I do not miss being sick—but nothing serious.” Philip lets out a breath he’s been holding at that, visibly deflating at John’s words. The vampire notices this out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything, smiling to himself as he continues, “Though, I guess you do get some stuff vampires get when they turn, it’s not nearly as much as real vampires. It’s different for each dhampir but it’s usually things like super senses and being more resilient—y’know, the basics.” John’s odd smile widens. “You remember the last time you ate anything? Or slept?”

Philip thinks it over. “No…though I just thought I got that from my dad.”

Laurens laughs, “Oh, you did, probably. But on the bright side, you might not _need_ to do stuff like that anymore. No harm done to your health or anything like with Hamilton. Congratulations—you’re, like, half-dead.” He hesitates, the humor slipping from his face, “unfortunately.”

Philip digests this, hand subconsciously landing on his neck. It throbs under his touch, the fire underneath still burning as though it’s fresh, but he does his best to ignore it, instead trying to wrap his head around the fact that he’s not completely himself anymore.

“Does the pain ever go away?” he finds himself asking, the words coming out before he can stop them. He looks to John, watching his expression fall further. “Surely I’m not gonna be stuck feeling like this forever.”

“Depends on what ‘this’ is,” John responds carefully.

Philip doesn’t miss a beat. “Y’know, stuck. Like my veins are on fire. Constantly feeling weak and exhausted no matter how hard I try. Unable to sleep because of the nightmares. Having a curtain blocking my thoughts all the time. Always feeling empty and cold. Always feeling drawn to _you_ —is that normal, by the way? You acted like it might’ve been.”

John nods. “Sometimes people get attached to us,” he murmurs. “And as for all of that—I don’t know. I think it depends on what happens now.”

“‘Now?’” Philip furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

John shrugs. It’s strange, watching him go from serious to nonchalant so quickly. He hates to admit that he finds it almost cute, except for the fact that John’s a vampire. A vampire that fucked his life up in ways he’s still coming to terms with.

“I mean that whatever we do next’ll lead to whatever happens to the both of us. There’s not much in terms of how to handle stuff like this, and Lord knows I’m downright _useless_ when it comes to fixing things, but—well, shit.” He sighs, turning to Philip. He takes the human by his shoulders, the younger man growing stiff under his touch. If Philip is cold, John is downright _freezing_. “What I’m saying is, you’re stuck with me. Not in the ‘I’ll be breathing down your neck every second of the day,’ but more like you’ll have to come and see me every once in a while, if you wanna salvage whatever’s going on up there.”

He taps at the human’s forehead, Philip flinching away. He rubs at the spot John touched, frowning. “And if I don’t?” he asks.

John’s expression turns grave. “Then I’m afraid you’re better off dead.”

***

John walks with him until they’re almost back to his apartment. They stop when they’re just around the block from his building, the vampire stepping away from him and pulling his hood up. Philip hadn’t noticed it before, but the sun peeks between the buildings now, light spilling between the cracks in the towering metal structures. Not the best sight for vampires, he assumes.

“Well,” Laurens says with a huff, “this has been fun. I guess.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Philip admits. “Besides the whole, uh, purple-vampire-trying-to-kill-me thing.”

John laughs. “Yeah, sorry about that. Guess that’s not the best impression to make on a human, huh?”

Philip scoffs. “Well, _yeah_. My first run-in with a vampire ended with me lying in the middle of an alleyway—I think I’d know a thing or two about bad first impressions when it comes to vampires.”

The vampire doesn’t meet his eye at that, smile falling slightly, “Right.”

They pause. Philip glances around, noticing how the crowd’s thickened, how the cars on the street seem to have multiplied, how everything’s gotten louder. Just another signal that morning’s coming at an alarming rate.

“I’ll be seeing you around, and stuff,” he says finally, looking at the ground. His face warms, heart pounding against his ribcage as he tries to find more to say, to do. Nothing comes to light.

Alright, maybe vampires _do_ have some kind of a unearthly charm. Damn if he knows.

John smiles at him whether it be charmed or not, giving a nod. “Yeah, you will.” His eyes light up, a thought coming to him. He shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling something out of it. It looks like a card. “Almost forgot, ha—here.”

Philip takes it. He stares at the jumble of letters, too tired to gleam much than a street number. Still, he’s almost certain as to what the card’s contents contain.

“An address?” he asks.

“ _My_ address,” John supplies. “I don’t want you walking back into that bar. That’s a vampires-only gig, and whereas _one_ occurrence is fine, I think everyone would kill ya if you showed your face in there again. With or without me intervening.”

Philip swallows thickly, pocketing the card, “Understood.”

Another pause, this one longer than the first. John goes to open his mouth, but someone bumps into him, knocking his hand into the sunlight, the vampire letting out a hiss as he yanks it back. He stuffs the hand—already blistering, Philip notices—into his pocket, pulling his hood further over his eyes.

“I need to get going,” he says. “See ya, Philip.”

Philip has to force a response out, utterly exhausted. “Bye.”

He steps away from the vampire just as John ducks into the crowd, hidden among a sea of blurred faces, using the early morning crowd as a shield against the sun. He watches until John’s retreating back is lost among the rushed people around them, nowhere to be seen.

Philip pulls his coat around himself and sighs, turning back in the direction of his house. Aching all over and mind fuzzed, jostled around by people passing by him, he stumbles forward, mind already focused on sleep.

He still doesn’t have the answers he wants. Not all of them, anyway, and there’s plenty he still doesn’t fully get.

But, remembering the card in his coat, Philip realizes he doesn’t need to rush to find them. He’ll learn with time.

But for now, he needs some goddamn peace—and a bed.

**Author's Note:**

> i rlly like vampires.
> 
> some notes:  
> -dhampirs are actually people who are born half-human/half-vampire, but for the sake of this fic they're people who were incorrectly fed from/incorrectly turned.   
> -because there's not a war going on i had to improvise on what led to john's death.  
> -this entire fic is me poking fun at a lot of vampire concepts and trying to figure out my own views on them.  
> -vampires and humans have a system set up so vampires can get blood so that they're Not feeding from humans. however, there's still cases of vampires drinking directly from humans, and so there's specially-trained doctors to deal with such cases.  
> -vampires are also very good at blending in with humans when they want to (which in modern day, they kinda have to).  
> -yeah, jefferson is fucking weird and kinda creepy. nobody is happy with this.  
> -i like writing philip having a crush on john. i have No Idea why it's just fun.  
> -would you believe me if i told you this took an entire day to write?   
> -what do you mean i wrote this to procrastinate on my other projects???? hahaha that's funny.
> 
> let me know what you think!!


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